


I Was A Teenage Anarchist

by ExcessivelyLiberal



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drugs, Graphic Violence, Lyn Z Way More Like Lyn Z Slay, M/M, MCR, Murder, in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExcessivelyLiberal/pseuds/ExcessivelyLiberal
Summary: Gerard is less than concerned when a new "Serial Killer" emerges in his hometown. Dedicated to Matt and Thomas; I'd go straight for either of you.





	1. Chapter One: They Sleep With A Gun

"How would you react if I informed you that I discovered a method of monitoring government activity without possibility of getting traced or tapped?"

Gerard looked up from his roost of sagging pillow cases and dirty blankets with a small frown, considering whether or not it would be worth his time or effort to dignify Mikey's odd hypothetical question with a response, or at the very least make some kind of clever innuendo at his blunt word choice. Instead he shrugged a shoulder and set his sketch pad down gently onto a pile comic books and crumpled sheets of paper. "I would probably say that you have way too much free time on your hands."

Mikey rolled his eyes and huffed playfully, "Yeah? Well, I would say that you have so much permanent marker on your hands that you're a word and a half from ink poisoning."

"Don't be stupid, Mikey. You can only get that orally."

"Well, I know how much you like to get things orally, so-"

"Alright!" Gerard yelped, flushing with embarrassment. His brother crossed his arms in triumph and leaned more comfortably against Gerard's door frame, smirking. "Did you come here to torment me, or is there something you'd like to discuss? Maybe your weird little man-crush on Pete Wentz."

"That is neither here nor there, and you know it."

"No," Gerard leered and let his voice drop into a condescending murmur. "But neither is your sexuality. Especially since you were dating that sweet little Sarah girl, until that kid with the forehead stole her and your CD player. Talk about adding salt to the wound."

"You are such a bitch."

"Takes one to know one."

"Hey, Gee, third grade called; it wants its insult back."

"You're just jealous because you didn't think of it first."

"You're infuriating."

"Your face is infuriating."

"Your mom is infuriating."

"We have the same mom, dumb ass."

"Boys! Dinner is ready!"

The sudden sound in the otherwise concentrated silence was so startling that Gerard jerked back, smacking his head on his headboard so hard tears pricked behind his eyelids, the resonance of the initial crack echoing mockingly off his poster-covered walls.

"Boys? I don't have the time or money for another trip to the emergency room; so unless one of you is bleeding out on the carpet, you're going to have to wait until my next paycheck!" Their mother, Donna Way, hollered down the stairs in a single breath.

The brothers stared at each other as their mother clattered around overhead (cursing loudly every few moments, presumably over the absolute mess Mikey had made a few hours ago in a mad search for a new video game counsel that Gerard did not intentionally misplace, how dare you.) before bursting simultaneously into fits of hysterical laughter.

"Let's go," Gerard coughed out after a minute or so, voice raw from laughter and still gently rubbing his aching skull. Mikey nodded, pulling off his glasses from where they rested precariously at the tip of his nose, wiping his eyes.

The older of the two untangled himself from his sheets and made his way over to the staircase where Mikey perched, shoving him playfully as he passed.

Gerard padded up the carpeted stairs, oversized pajama pants pooling at his ankles and catching at his heels; his brother trotting closely behind him. Just as the darker haired brother reached out to push the heavy basement door open, Mikey sucked in a sharp breath and jumped forward, slamming it closed with such ferocity the door frame shook. He grabbed his brother by the collar and yanked him half way back down the flight of stairs, his movement so abrupt that a very startled Gerard let out a very feminine-sorry, outraged squeak.

 

"Jesus, Mikey! Are you trying to kill me?"

Mikey snorted, but didn't relinquish is white-knuckled grip on Gerard. "Please. If I wanted you dead, you'd be in the ground right now. But more importantly", he leaned in so close that Gerard could feel his warm breath ghosting across his pale cheek. "come to my room after dinner. I've got a surprise for you."

Gerard's confused frown turned disgusted in a heartbeat and he shoved his little brother away from him. "Ew, Mikey, no! You saying things like that is the reason Brendon thinks we're gay for each other! When you were at band practice last week, he wrote 'incest in wincest' on the whiteboard in math class before the sub arrived! I don't want that to be my legacy, dude!" Gerard whisper-yelled.

Mikey's expression instantly morphed into one that mirrored his brother's perfectly, scrambling back for emphasis. "Oh, gross! Gee, that is fucking sick! Why would you even-"

Gerard raised his hands in defense, but before he could utter a word in agreement, their mother's voice rang again, this time laced with impatient venom. "Christ, I pushed the both of you out of my vagina, and you can't even make it up the stairs and to dinner on time! Typical!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize now for really inconsistent chapter length and publication dates. But thank you for reading, and please don't be silent! I'd love to hear comments and stuff. It'll get violent soon. Have a wonderful day. xoL


	2. Chapter Two: Keep An Eye On You, Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note-- The title is inspired by the song 'I Was A Teenage Anarchist' by Thrash! Unreal and the chapter titles of all quotes from the song 'Teenagers' by My Chemical Romance (obviously).

"Okay, not that I don't understand, because I do, but could you repeat that one more time? Just for the sake of the audience?"

"You know what? We've already gone over this twice, and I don't have the time, patience or crayons to explain this to you again. Just scoot over and keep quiet."

Gerard raised his hands in mock surrender, and Mikey rolled his eyes. Leaning over the small handset, his wash of stringy blond hair momentarily obscured his tight jaw and concentrated brow. Through a mass of greasy strands, Gerard could make out the excited gleam in his brother's usually frosty eyes, and he felt a small smile work its way across his cheeks.

"The wild thing is," Mikey began hurriedly, speaking as fast as his nimble fingers danced across the small dials below him. "This shouldn't even be possible! You know Ray- Ray is a genius; he figured this out- usually you have to be, like, directly connected to the main phone line, wires in all, but-"

The younger of the two was suddenly cut off an abrupt burst of static.

After a frantic hushing motion in Gerard's general direction and another spastic moment of fiddling, a muffled voice slowly began to gain clarity.

" -the body was mutilated beyond recognition, sir. It's a man, judging by the pelvic region, which is in an advanced stage of deterioration by the way, but other than that-we have nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You say he was mutilated?"

"Yes. And the killer was thorough, too. Every thing from the chest cavity to genitals- all either cut to slivers or removed entirely. The coroner said it was the most extreme case of overkill she'd ever seen. And before you ask- it's most likely not a trophy hunter. The autopsy showed that everything extracted would have been too damaged to maintain any longer than a few days."

"I see. Have any missing person's reports been filed within the last few days?"

"One. But there's no way. The report was filed by a frantic mother who hadn't seen her son since he'd departed for school two days prior. I believe her name was Kelly Joseph-"

"Well, is there any chance that the body's his?!" The second voice snarled, clearly aggravated by the woman's meandering. 

"No," she hurried on. "No, the kid, Tyler, was sixteen. There's not a chance the body's his. But..."

"What?! Time is of the essence! Spit it out!"

"But the boy's profile did match that of the body we found in the river last night." The woman finished weakly. "We're nearly positive that it's Tyler, but we want DNA confirmation before alert his family."

"Is there... anything else I should know?"

"Not at the moment, no."

The man heaved a deep sigh, and the line sizzled. "What the hell is happening?" He asked distantly, but in a despairing tone that made it clear he didn't expect an answer. "Six victims in the past month alone, no links between any of them: different ages, social classes, religions, genders, and according to records, the only two that even knew each other by name were Billie Joe Armstrong, a creepy old recluse, and Haley Frangipane, a bar tender who saved his sorry ass from a bar fight more than a couple times."

"Well, we aren't positive about that. Maybe we can run through the records again. In the meantime, it'll probably be best to enforce a curfew-"

Gerard sneezed.

After a long moment, a few things then occurred in rapid succession. 

A scream of astonishment pierced the line, shattering the deafening silence. It belonged to the second voice. To the voice that had been addressed as 'sir.'

A violent crash echoed a half second later, though it was impossible to tell what side it came from. Immediately afterwards, a long, colorful string of curses bled from the speakers and into Gerard's pounding ear-drums, almost ringing louder than his hammering heartbeat, which was practically skipping beats.

Mikey slammed his open fist down on a silver knob and the line went quiet.

The brothers sat in a shocked silence for nearly a full minute, before Mikey slowly turned to Gerard with a sly smirk creeping across his face.

"Well, Gee," he said, pronouncing each syllable deliberately, like he'd forgotten how to speak in the time they'd been eavesdropping. "Better go get your baseball bat- I think we've found ourselves a murder to catch."


End file.
